our antebellum innocence
by applementha
Summary: "Let's be best friends," Ginny says. ; a luna / ginny serial
1. Age Five

"i have one prayer, only;… that you and i in hand as we e'en do in heart, might ramble away as children, among the woods and fields, and forget these many years, and these sorrowing cares, and each become a child again…"

- emily dickinson in a letter to susan gilbert

;;

She finds it frightening, sweet, and somewhat pathetic that her first memory of Ginny is her first memory of anything.

It's a bit like looking through a fogged up window at people talking on the other side: fuzzy, muffled, slightly in color. The thing that makes it the most pathetic is that the encounter isn't even the most profound, most definitely not unique, and just the kind of thing people expect to happen between small children.

They were in that big field between their houses, the one with tall yellow grass and marshes, and they couldn't have been more than five because Bill and Charlie (as she would later learn) were both home for the summer and about to go into their sixth and fourth years, and Percy was about to start. She had a toy broomstick her father had gotten her (forgetting the fact that his daughter was not fond of heights at all) and Ginny was trying to figure out how to use a little set of watercolors that were charmed to change color at random intervals. They had decided on a swap, and she had started using the roll of parchment that was attached while Ginny giggled and squealed at the fact that she was now able to ride two feet above the ground.

"What are you doing?" Ginny had asked.

"I'm making a picture."

"Of what?"

She'd looked up to see Ginny staring quizzically at the bit of parchment she had in her lap and smiled. "Of you, silly." The hair she'd meant to be tomato red was now bright green, and the dress a rather nasty shade of orange, but a kiss from Ginny was nonetheless placed on her cheek. She felt her chest grow light and a giddy grin spread across her face, a satisfied sigh escaping her as Ginny ran back to her house in response to her mother's cries about dinner. She admired Ginny's thick red braids and the way they caught the light the entire way.

She'll think about this memory years later, think that that was likely where it all began, but for now she won't find it terribly important. Instead, she's more worried about the silvery blue dress robes her mother had gotten her a few hours ago and whether or not the redheaded girl sitting across the table from her liked them or not. They'd shared a few giggles and exchanged several thrown green beans before each of the girls' respective mothers had given them stern looks and Ginny's had taken her aside to give a brief lecture on the importance of proper behavior in front of new people. First impressions and all that. Now, there was a sort-of silence circling the table - one of those awkward ones that usually happen at dinner parties, occasionally punctuated by the clinking of a plate or a "could you pass the so-and-so, please?"

Mum swallowed another forkful of Mrs. Weasley's fish pie and shifted in her chair. "So," She said, wiping her mouth with her napkin, "Molly, you and Arthur both went to Hogwarts with Xeno, correct?"

Mrs. Weasley, who'd been busying herself with checking that each of her children had green on their plates, looked up. "Pardon? Oh, yes, we did."

"Glad to see you're doing well for yourself, by the way, Xeno," Mr. Weasley said, cutting up a piece of ham, "What's your magazine called again?"

"_The Quibbler_," Dad replied, "It is our - or my, rather - goal to report the important things. Things the public is entitled to know."

"Your goal?"

"Oh, yes, well I'm actually the only one working on it at the moment, but we manage," Dad replied, the apples of his cheeks turning a light shade of pink and his one good eye looking down. Him and Mum were a rather odd-looking couple, everyone said. When they still lived with Gran and Gramps other old people invited over for tea would start conversations about Mum and Dad. The words themselves usually didn't mean very much to Luna, save a few (strange, pity, why, shocked) but those people didn't usually come back.

"Briony, I don't seem to remember you at Hogwarts at all," Mrs. Weasley said as Luna made a smiling face with her fork in her leftover gravy, "Did you go after we graduated?"

Mum cleared her throat, shook her head, and smiled politely. "No, erm, I was homeschooled." Mrs. Weasley nodded a bit too appreciatively, then turned to Luna and offered her more soup.

"You're from Scotland, right?" Bill asked, tapping his spoon on the side of his own soup bowl.

"Yes. We actually lived with my parents before we got up enough money to move here. Our professions don't pay very well."

"And, what is it you do, exactly?"

"I work at St. Mungo's, part time. You know, tidying beds and rooms and that sort of thing. Just something to keep the rent money flowing until I can accepted into a Healer training programme."

Mr. Weasley said something that sounded far more curious than any of his previous remarks. But despite the sudden energy, Luna yawned and fidgeted in her chair, admiring the cobwebs that had manifested themselves in the ceiling corners of Mrs. Weasley's kitchen as the conversation around her became much more animated.

Eventually, Ginny and Luna were permitted to play in the garden, and the rest of the family went off into their separate activities while the parents talked amongst themselves in the lounge. They hid behind a bush, giggling over nothings and the way flies seemed to love the way Ginny smelled (Luna did, too, but that's beside the point).

"Let's be best friends," Ginny said while Luna was braiding her hair.

She paused. "Best friends?" She asked, tilting her head. Ginny smiled.

"Mhm."

"I've never had a best friend before. What do they do?"

"Well, they do everything together, and that's going to be easy because you live really close. And they tell each other everything, and always, always love each other."

"Wow. Okay." Somewhat daunting, actually.

It was quiet for a bit, just the crickets chirping as they faced each other in the grass.

"Let's make it official, then." Ginny said finally.

"How?"

"Here," Ginny took her hand and gripped it tightly, "I saw these big boys do this once, except they had a wand. But Mummy pulled me away before they were done, so I only know the first bit." Luna blinked twice at their entwined hands. Was this all there was to it? It seemed as though -

"Now, whatever I ask you, you have to say 'I will,'" Ginny said, smiling, "Easy."

"Easy," Luna repeated. She tucked a lock of long white-blond hair behind her ear, continuing to look down. Ginny rubbed her hand over

"Do you swear to do everything together forever and ever?"

"I will."

"Do you swear to tell each other everything?"

"I will."

"Do you swear to love each other always?"

"I will."

They sat there in silence, expecting something to happen (lights, confetti, clapping, anything really). "I think that's all," Ginny said, finally, letting go of Luna's hand. She smiled.

"I'll be a good best friend."


	2. Age Ten

In the past few months, Luna had heard more people call her father insane than she had in all the previous years of her life combined.

"They have no right," she tells him as he sits at his desk, skimming through letters from unhappy readers, "They just don't want to hear it." He looks up at her, hair slightly greasy and more than slightly ruffled and head propped up with his hand. He'd been mostly unresponsive since Mum... since she'd -

(She doesn't want to say it, think it, hear it. It makes the wound fresh again and the memories come back and it's the last thing she needs right now.)

Dad sighs, wraps his arm around Luna's waist and pulls her close, pressing his head against her shoulder. "We'll be okay, Lu," he says, "You know that, right?" The sleeve of the wool sweater he's wearing slips down as he reaches out to her, showing a pale, sallow arm that reminds her of all the skeletons she's ever seen. He's weak, she knows. He's become fragile, one of those dolls you were extra careful with when you held because you were so scared they'd fall and smash into pieces.

"Yeah. I know." Most days, she wasn't so sure, but she won't tell him that, especially not now. She'd protect him. They'd protect each other.

The papers scattered on his desk say essentially the same thing: where the hell did the brilliance go? The commentary, the fresh outlook they had signed up for had disappeared, and in their place there were conspiracy theories, mutant creatures, tall tales of flying to the moon, and stories about monsters and vagabonds ready to eat you alive once you turned your back. She runs her fingers over the parchment as the two of them stand quiet, trying to feel the little bumps of the dried ink. Visionaries are always outcasted by society, she thinks. It's how the world works.

(The thing she knows but won't admit is that she understands what they're saying. She knows that stories about moon frogs aren't exactly the same as political coverage, but what the readers didn't know was that it was the only way to keep sane. The incredible and far-fetched had opened itself up to them and took them under their wing. And if all those stories are possible, so is seeing Mum again. The Blibbering Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks simply become more real to them as a result.)

;;

Later, when she's tracing pictures in the frost on her bedroom window, she sees Ginny step over the brittle, brown grass stalks of the now-frozen field. She furrows her eyebrows because this is a bit of a shock, to be honest.. They hadn't seen each other since the funeral, and even then their exchange had been brief.

Why do you have the casket closed? Ginny had asked. Aren't they usually open, so people can see the body?

Luna had paused, taken a breath and adjusted her gaze straight ahead before answering. It's because of what happened, she'd said, we don't want people seeing her like that. She's beautiful in their memories.

Oh, had been Ginny's only response.

But now, there's a knock at the door, a nervous cough on the other side and (as the rules of politeness dictate) she's obligated to open it. She takes her steps slowly, though. The knocks speed up to a quicker tempo in response.

By the time Luna does reach the door, the knocks have stopped, and it's somewhat to her relief. She can't help but hope that Ginny won't be on the other side, because things aren't like they used to be (or _she_ isn't, anyway - Ginny's stayed agonizingly the same and there are days where it kills her). She opens the door anyhow, just to check, and there she is, cheeks just faintly flushed with the cold and big blue eyes peeping out from under a red scarf that clashes horribly with her hair.

"Hey," Ginny says, waving. "Do you mind if I come in? It's freezing." Luna can't do anything but nod dumbly and stand aside, because in all honesty, she's got no clue what to say. It's strange, seeing Ginny sit down at their kitchen table and take off her coat and wraps, making herself at home like she used to, and it shouldn't be. She should be happy seeing her friend (her only friend, she realizes suddenly and rather grimly). Luna sits down across from her, and for awhile they can't figure out what else to do but just stare at each other.

"We're going to school next year," Ginny says, attempting to lighten the mood. "Do you know which house you want to be in?"

"My dad was a Ravenclaw. I guess that'll be it," she replies with a shrug.

"Well, what house do you think fits you?"

"I don't know. I haven't really thought about it."

Ginny chuckled and sighed, a smile appearing. "I have, loads. All my brothers are in Gryffindor, and Ron just got in too. He's a bit of a pansy, though, so I guess if he can get in, it should be no trouble for me. I just hope I'm not in Hufflepuff, that would be so _embarrassing_, yeah? Everybody tells me that Hufflepuff is like, the leftover house, and it's basically where they send all the loonies that can't do anything. I suppose I could get into Ravenclaw, but I'm not that good with memorizing, so that's ticked off-"

"I don't want to go, Gin," Luna interjects. Ginny stops herself, swallows, sighs.

"Why not?"

"I just can't. I mean, my dad needs me."

"It's not going to be forever, though, Luna."

"But it's a long time. And you know, it's just... Ginny, sometimes he looks at me and he doesn't even see me. Like it's Mum he's talking to, not me," (she coughs to hide the fact that her voice is choking up) "Just, what if I come back and he doesn't even recognize me?" Ginny gets up, arms crossed, and walks to Luna's side of the table.

"It won't happen. Trust me."

She doesn't, she realizes. Not one bit.

She's known for a long time Ginny's everything she's not: pretty, outgoing, fiery, smart. There's nothing to keep her from going somewhere else one day and finding new people and just moving forward without her. People like Ginny; interesting and happy people without dead mums and almost dead fathers, people who don't spend their days buying pink roses for graves or putting blankets around people who have fallen asleep writing about gingivitis-ridden vampires in the Ministry. No, she's going to up and leave one day - it's inevitable. Just like the neighbors who used to come around, just like her mum, just like the dad she used to know.

Just like everyone.

"Say something, Lu." Ginny puts a strand of Luna's hair behind her ear, head slightly tilted.

"I'm scared," is what she decides on.

Ginny leans down and presses her lips against Luna's, and there's not much more that she can do but freeze, eyes wide and an odd sensation blooming in the base of her stomach. Her hands tighten in her lap, nails digging against the pads of her fingers until Ginny feels it appropriate to break the contact.

"There. Is it better now?" Ginny asks, grinning. A small smile pulls at the corners of Luna's mouth and she stands up, hugs Ginny in an attempt to widen the small break in the chronic loneliness she's been feeling. It is better, momentarily.


End file.
